My Sweet Demise (Demise #1) (13 page)

I get dressed for work early and drive around Jacksonville until my shift starts. This city is as unfamiliar to me as the rest of the world. I’ve never seen much of it besides the small part that raised me. I’m not into stepping outside of my comfort zone. I’ve never even been out of the city before. That’s why I broke down when Becca left. We were each other’s wall and when she left I was forced to lean against myself for the first time. I found I was stable; I had my moments of fragility, yet I could support myself if I had to. Some part of me had to learn that lesson after relying on her my entire life.

I brace myself for Saturday night, our busiest night. Insanity at its basic level thrives on the main floor when I check with Henley. A catchy 80’s song plays overhead and people are going crazy. Even I can’t help it. I dance from table to table, catching the gaze of a green-eyed hottie in my section. As I approach his table a familiar laugh catches my attention. Kent and his manwhore friends are in Samantha’s section. She doesn’t know it yet. I spot her at the bar, shaking her own hips to the beat as her worst nightmare waits to be served.

I quickly move to the green-eyed hottie in case she asks me to take Kent’s table instead. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says back, grinning. He’s got jet black hair and the beginning of a beard. “What are the rules about dancing while on shift?”

“She loves to dance,” Henley butts in. “Go on. I’ve got your tables for one song.”

I stare dumbly at them. He gets up as the song shifts.

“May I?”

I nod silently as he pulls me onto the dance floor. He’s lucky I love this song. I notice immediately the guy can’t dance and he only wanted me to. It’s adorable watching him try and keep up. Eventually I put him out of his misery and turn around to grind against him, doing all of the work.

“What’s your name?” he asks in my ear.

I turn my head to the side so I can reach his. “Raina. What’s yours?”

“Trevor. I’ve been here a couple times, but I never seem to get your section.”

I turn around to hide my blush. As I do I sense eyes on me. They feel heavy and reproachful. I assume it’s Wayne, because I’m most certainly not working, but it isn’t Wayne. It’s Kent. He’s standing a few feet away from the entrance for the restrooms. He’s staring at me with a weird expression on his face. If I didn’t know any better I’d say someone just kicked his ass. He’s clearly in pain. I wonder about his expression, but Trevor turns me around and I forget. After all, wingwomen aren’t hired to care.

When the song ends he stops attempting to dance.

“Better get you back to work,” he says, winking. “I am starving, you know.”

He leads me back over to my section. Why did I dance with him? I scratch my cheek as I listen to him tell me his order. It’s Kent’s fault. I’ve been avoiding him all day and there he is, dressed deliciously in a tight white t-shirt and those sexy black jeans. His biceps stretch his shirt and his wallet bulges near the part of him I had been grinding against the other day. Images of me clawing at him as he rubbed me make me highly aggravated.

On my way over to the bar to get Trevor’s drink Samantha digs her nails into my arms.

“No,” I snap at her.

“Please, Raina. Please! I can’t see him again. He used me.”

“That’s what Kent does.”

“Now I know. Please. I’ll give you half my tips tonight.”

I sigh. “Keep your tips. I’ll cover their table. But you have to take that guy with the green eyes. Table fourteen. He likes me.”

She hugs me and spills some of the beer on the bar. “Thank you, girl. We should hang out sometime. How come we never have before?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” I’m doing all kinds of things I don’t want to do lately. “Take Green Eyes these drinks. I already put his order through.”

“What if he asks about you?”

“Tell him the truth. I’m wildly unattainable.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to work. I’ll get his number for you.”

“No!” I shout, but she’s already gone.

I grumble mean things under my breath as I approach Kent’s table. Jake and Zeke grin at me.

“Look it’s the hot roommate!”

“Roommate hot the it’s look!”

Kent’s head whips around and zeroes in on me. “Oh joy,” he mumbles.

I ignore him. “Hi, fellas.”

“Where have you been?” Zeke wonders, talking normally for once. “I’m having a party tonight. You should come.” He reaches over and touches my wrist, toying with my hair tie.

Kent glares. “Your girlfriend’s going to be there, dipshit.”

I gently extract Zeke’s hand from my wrist. “I have to work until late. Maybe next time. How about we order?”

The men I don’t recognize order first. Then Jake and Zeke, who want the hot wings and the wings hot, and then finally it’s Kent’s turn.

He looks up at me with condemnation in his eyes. “Give me a bottle of whiskey.”

My stomach drops. The entire bottle?
Kent…

He leans over and gets his wallet out, giving me the same credit card as the other night. He doesn’t say anything else. I try to meet his eyes but he won’t anymore. A few minutes later I return to their table with their drinks and Kent’s bottle. He immediately cracks the top and pours himself a shot, tossing it back.

“Here’s to forgetting all of the cheating, lying women out there, and the ones who are too good for us.” While everyone applauds, Kent glances briefly in my direction.

I bite my tongue and leave, returning to my other tables. But I watch him all night. He manages to drink half the bottle before they leave the bar. He’s staggering on the way out with the rest in his hand. I hope he’s not driving himself. A knot unfurls in my stomach. Idiot. Forgetting wasn’t worth losing your life over.

You gave him the bottle.

If I didn’t someone else would’ve. Wayne only cuts people off after they’ve drunken a hefty bill’s worth. Turning someone down over one bottle because I was worried about them wasn’t going to go over well.

As I turn to check on one of my tables Trevor steps in my path. “Done babysitting?”

I laugh uneasily. “Yes. Did Samantha fill you in?”

“She did. I have to go but she gave me your number. I’ll call you some time, if that’s all right?”

I keep my face nice. I can’t stand being put on the spot. “That’s all right.”

“Great. It was nice to finally meet you, Raina.” He leans down and kisses my cheek.

I’m too stunned to move out of the way. I wait for it. That buzzing attraction, but it doesn’t come. So far Kent is the only man who can make me feel it.

I smile at him when he winks. “You too, Trevor.”

When he’s gone I find Samantha and pull her into the kitchen. “Who said you could give him my number?”

“He likes you. He’s a really nice guy. Smart too.”

“He doesn’t even know me.”

She pats my shoulder. “Relax. Guys flirt with you all the time and you ignore them. Why?”

I push her off as nicely as possible. “Don’t do it again, Sam.”

“Fine, grouchy. How was Kent?” Her cheeks fill with pink.

I know the feeling. “He was a drunk a-hole. So like himself.”

“How much did you see?”

I roll my eyes as we enter the main floor again. “I didn’t see anything, I promise. It was dark.”

“Dark like dark, or dark like sort of dark?”

“Sam,” I warn.

“Did he talk about me?” She sounds hopeful beyond hope.

“It’s not any of my business,” I say, resenting Kent for making me do this to her. He should be here breaking her heart. Not me. “But Kent doesn’t think about any of you. You shouldn’t think about him.”
Because the idea of you two together is pissing me off.

I’m his roommate. His wing-woman. I’m nothing but a pity bang in the bathroom.

“You’re right.” She shakes her head as if to clear it of him. “Hey, you want to have a few shots after work? Wayne won’t mind. If you dance with him he’ll even give them to you for free.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “We both know how you like to dance.”

For the first time I think I need a few shots after work. “Yeah, cool. Thanks, Sam.”

“Thanks for not slut shaming me also. Kayla and Terry won’t stop snickering every time I walk past them, whispering
slut
under their breath. I’m not a…slut, right?” She sounds uncertain and worried.

I look her right in the eye. “No. You’re a grown woman who can sleep with whoever she wants. Sluts don’t exist anyway. They’re women who do what they want and are judged by people who don’t understand them. You think those two judgmental idiots wouldn’t want Kent Nicholson if he breathed their way? Don’t let them bother you.”

I pat her arm, but she pulls me against her into a hug. I’m momentarily stunned. I don’t have friends. My life is too much of a precarious tipping stone as it is without other women risking my footing. Plus with Becca always around I’ve never needed them. But Becca’s away, I’m on my own, and maybe having a friend around wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I recover and hug her back.

“Thank you, Raina.”

“Anytime, Sam. Let’s get back to work.”

The night continues to drain the life out of me. I’m accused of getting an order wrong, even though I know I didn’t, and the customer’s being a bitch with a side of cunt. I get no tip from that table, and my others are filled with touchy men who want more beer, my number, and something I’m not willing to give them. I eye a wedding ring on one finger.

My resolve to leave Kent alone resurfaces like a wild beast out for blood. That’s Kent. Handsome, spoiled, unfaithful, and drowning in issues I don’t want to unearth.

I wonder fleetingly why I need reminders to leave someone alone, when before my fears were always enough.

Chapter Five

Sam slams a shot down on the bar.

Oblivion is officially closed and we are officially free. Until tomorrow. The thought depresses me, so I take my proffered shot of vodka and slam it down. I can’t stand the taste and have to do a dance with my face all scrunched up to keep it down. The girls gather around the bar and chatter lightly. My mood is anything but light, but not wanting to be rude forces me to join in, supplying what I need to when prompted.

I take one more shot and then announce my departure. Samantha groans, opening her mouth to argue whatever point she has, but I quickly wave goodbye and duck out the back. I want to get home before the shots kick in. It’s not the wisest choice, but neither is drinking more.

When I get to the apartment I pause outside the door and listen for grunting and moaning.

“Kent,” a female voice says, followed by muffled giggles.

“Great,” I grumble, sliding down to sit on the porch. I dangle my feet over the railing’s edge and take my phone out. Angry Birds keeps me company while the two of them give the couch a workout.

“Kent!” she shouts at one point, but it sounds angry and unsatisfied. His dark chuckle follows, and then he makes a weird grunting noise.

“Get off of me,” she orders. “Let’s switch then.”

I try and tune them out. Great, now they’re fighting. There’s a lull in the conversation. I assume he’s kissing it and making it better. After a few minutes, however, she starts at him again.

“Kent,” she whines, making me cringe. “Get up. Wake up. What’s wrong?”

I turn around and stare at the door. I’ve never had sex but I doubt you ask those types of questions any time during.

“Shit. Kent, get up. Wake up!” She’s starting to get frantic. Hectic demands tumble out of her. “Stop shaking. Get up.”

I bolt to my feet and try the door. It’s locked. Kent never gave me my key. I pound with my fist. “Let me in!”

A few seconds later the door opens. I ignore the naked brunette trying to cover herself with her clothes by the door and immediately search for Kent. He’s on his back on the couch, naked as the day he was born, and his face is slack and his head has fallen to the side. A stream of puke trails down his cheek. He’s making gurgling noises and his chest is flapping rapidly in a strange way.

I drop my purse and rush around to his side of the couch. He’s choking on his own puke. I grab his shoulder and roll him onto his side with shaking hands. Throw up, the color of the hot wings he had at Oblivion and stinking of straight whiskey, come spewing out of his mouth. It dribbles down his chin and stains the beige couch cushion.

“We were having sex and he stopped moving.”

I hang my head as Kent continues to throw up, rubbing his back and ignoring the naked woman talking my ear off.

“We weren’t even doing anything kinky. I was on top because he was too drunk.”

Kent starts to shake as if he’s cold, but his skin is on fire. Panic floods my system. His hands shake and his eyes are unfocused. “Kent. Talk to me.” I ignore his puke and touch his cheek, patting it gently to get his attention.

His eyes attempt to focus but they can’t seem to settle on one specific spot before he gives up. He continues to vomit. I turn him on his side once more.

“Call 911,” I order.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I gave him something. I’ll go to jail.”

“His life is worth more to me than your jail time.”

She grabs her panties and pulls them on. “Not to me. I’m not letting some hot loser ruin my life with his bullshit.” She starts putting on the rest of her clothes, and then she grabs her purse. “He had Ecstasy. Put him in the bathtub and make the water cold. Keep him cold.” She slams the door shut on her way out.

I stare down at Kent helplessly. Dread fills me. My purse is by the door. My cell is on the floor near it. I don’t want to leave him for five seconds.

“James!” I scream. “James!”

I realize James can’t hear me. He has no idea Kent is seizing right in front of me. The smells of puke and whiskey surround me like a nefarious cloud. I panic. I’m going to lose him. Kent will never wake up again. He’ll never know I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since he opened the door and invited me inside.

Snap out of it!
I sniff my tears and grab his arm. He’s on fire. He needs cold water fast. I start to think of what I need to do, in order.

First, get Kent into the bathtub.

I try and pull him but he’s too heavy. He’s like an immovable muscled rock. His naked body lies there shaking uncontrollably. Puke streams out of his lips as if there are too many toxins in him to stop. I’ll have to pull him. I gently roll him until he falls onto the floor, cringing when he lands. Grabbing his arms, I begin to tug him across the living room, into the hall, and then to the bathroom. I know I’m not thinking straight. I can’t. All I see is the unfocused look in his eyes, as if Kent is drifting away from me forever. My heart grips in my chest and I pull on him harder.

When I get him to the bathroom I leave him lying on the rugs and turn the water on to fill the bathtub, making sure it’s ice cold. As I wait for it to fill I kneel down near Kent’s face and put my fingers in his mouth to make sure his throat isn’t blocked. I wipe his puke off on my work shirt and peel his eyelids apart.

“Kent,” I try and get his attention. “Kent, wake up.”

Nothing. His eyes have rolled into the back of his head. My stomach falls. “Kent!” I shout, smacking his face hard. Nothing. Not even a growl of pain. My own hands are shaking. “Wake up, baby. Please wake up. Kent, wake up for me.”

Each failed attempt is like a kick to the ribs. I can’t breathe. At least he is. I press my ear to his mouth and let his slow, labored breaths fan across my cheek. That’s a good sign in this horrible situation.

“Kent,” I attempt again, whispering and praying with all my might he’ll answer me.

Low in his throat I hear a groan.

Relief washes over me. I grab hold of his face, still unbearably handsome even covered in vomit and sweat. I wipe some of it away and then rinse my fingers in the ice cold water.

“I need your help. I’m not strong enough to lift you in the tub.”

He gives me another soft unrecognizable groan. But when I try and nudge him toward the bathtub he won’t budge. I get as far as propping him up against the tub before I give up. I grab a towel and dip the whole thing into the water, gently draping the soaking cloth over his chest first. He jerks from the cold temperature. This isn’t about comforting him. I have to save his damn life. I try and peel his eyes back and find they’re not in the back of his head. They’re worse. At least before I couldn’t see the nothingness in his gaze. This way it’s like staring into an empty vessel. He’s nothing like the sexy, confident man I met the day I came looking for a room for rent. This man is naked, covered in puke, and so completely out of if I start to cry again. I can’t help it.

No one should ever look that empty.

Whatever Kent ran from this is where he was running to. Alcohol and drugs with an endless void stretched out before him that would inevitably leave him empty.

I dunk the towel back into the water, repeating this process for hours. I run the towel over his face, his back, and his legs. When I get to his penis I bite my lip and carefully take off the condom that’s still attached to him, dropping it in the trash before continuing to cool him down. I refill the bath twice, making sure it’s as cold as possible, and I drench his entire body from it until his skin feels like its normal temperature.

Still, my adrenaline pumps. I lean against his side and rest my head on his chest and shoulder, breathing in the smell of nothing on his skin. “Kent?”

He’s as silent as the inside of the apartment. I peel his eyes back and meet the black nothingness. He’s still in there. He just has to wake up. I need him to wake up. To make sure his temperature doesn’t get a chance to elevate again, I repeat the process once more, drenching him.

As I’m near his thighs he starts to stir. I drop the towel and crawl back to his face. “Kent? Answer me!”

“Mmm,” he groans.

And then he opens his eyes.

I fall forward and press my face to his chest in relief. But my relief is short lived when I feel warm, foul-smelling liquid hit the back of my skull. I rise slowly. I don’t bother looking at him. I know he’s out once more. I peel my clothes off, unworried about being naked in front of him in his comatose state, and stand with my feet in the ice cold water as the warm water of the shower washes away the puke dripping down my neck and back. My senses are returning.

And my anxiety is making me ill.

Once I’m puke free I run to my bedroom naked, put on some clothes, and then risk leaving Kent for a few minutes to go into James’s bedroom. He’s fast asleep, twisted in his sheets and snoring. I walk over and nudge him. I don’t mean to do it roughly, but I fear his unresponsive reaction as much as I fear Kent’s.

He stares up at me in confusion.

“Get up. I need help with Kent. He won’t wake up.”

He isn’t reading my lips. He can’t hear me and due to his confusion he can only stare. Frustrated, I grab his hand and pull him out of bed, dragging him into the bathroom where Kent is slumped over against the tub.

James sighs.

I concur.

I stand in front of James and completely break down. “Don’t cry,” he begs. His arms pull me to his chest and I cry against him. The nothingness in Kent’s eyes haunts me.

I lean away after I’m done crying and find him watching my mouth intently, waiting for me to speak. “Help me get him to my bedroom? I know he won’t want me in his. I refuse to leave him alone right now.”

“He won’t,” he agrees. “Not even now. Grab his feet. I’ll get his shoulders.”

I reach down and grab Kent’s ankles, trying and failing not to stare at his penis. I feel bad for him. So incredibly bad. Fresh tears moisten my eyes. James and I struggle to carry him into my bedroom. We gently set him on my bed and then James stands back, holds up a finger, and disappears. I sit on the edge of the bed and hold Kent’s foot like it’s his hand, interweaving my fingers between his long toes.

James returns with a pair of shorts. He doesn’t ask for help and I don’t watch. When he’s done Kent is no longer naked.

He pats my shoulder on the way out.

I wonder how often James has seen Kent shitfaced, passed-out drunk in order for him to be nonchalant about it.

I don’t plan on sleeping at all. I crawl to the top of the bed near Kent’s head and snuggle against him, watching his mouth in case he starts to puke again.

As I stare I trace his still features. His jaw is covered in stubble, fair hairs poking out of his skin. I lean over and run my lips over his cheek, kissing his face as he sleeps. Slowly I trace the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, and the indents in his cheeks that sink sometimes when he smiles. I miss his smile so much. I wonder if I ever got to see a real one I earned. I deserve one after tonight.

The sun rises as I wait for him to wake. It creeps over the top of my curtains and bathes us both in golden sunshine. It makes his hair look white and his eyelashes translucent. He’s so beautiful, I think, breathless by the sight of him. I delicately touch his eyelashes, parting them as I brush across them like a fan. I run my fingers through his hair as the sun sucks the color from it. It’s still wet from his sweat. I touch his chest and then his armpit, checking to see if he’s hot again. Finding he’s cold, I bring my sheets up to cover us both.

At seven thirty my eyelids start to drift. I try and fight them. Kent needs me. But I’m drained.

I’m awoken by groaning. My eyes flash open. Kent is rolling around in my bed, my sheets twisted around his feet as sweat slicks his chest and arms. I check the clock. It’s two in the afternoon. I fear what’s coming and go in search of a bucket. I find one under the kitchen sink. When I return, I set the bucket down and crawl to him.

I gently tap his cheek. “Kent?”

His eyes flash open. He lets out a huge stink-filled breath ripe of puke and whiskey and touches his chest as if his heart is going to pound out of it. “Raina?” he groans, his voice gruff and scratchy.

This crazy relief slams into me. I press my forehead against his and kiss his nose. “Yeah, Kent. It’s me.”

“I’m going to puke.”

I quickly grab the bucket and hold it out to him. Almost immediately he retches into it. I think I see a tear in his eye but it could be the strain of puking. His body bends inward on itself as he continues to get rid of the whiskey in his system. He’s contorted in pain and all I can do is rub his back.

Finally, he pushes the bucket away and falls onto his back. “Raina,” he whimpers, shaking, “it hurts.”

I curl up against him and rub his chest soothingly. “I’m sorry it hurts. Next time don’t be an idiot and drink an entire bottle of whiskey, you jackass.”